


das Kind

by Kuro_Guardian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Decent!Albus, Epic Length, F/M, Gen, Happy story?, I have a two page outline!, Likable!Remus, Like barely knows who canon is levels of AU, Massively AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, sure let's go with that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuro_Guardian/pseuds/Kuro_Guardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like father, like son. A dire prophecy has Harry Potter sending his infant son to the past. Years later imagine Severus Snape's surprise when a young Harry arrives and breaks his glamour. A different spin on Servitius. No Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

He runs through the darken hallway clutching his newborn son to himself. His son, Nathan, the only part of his wife he has left. The child sleeps eyelashes stark against damask cheeks. A moan rises in Harry's chest at the thought of what he is about to do. "I love you Nathan." He does and this - the gate has been breached wards finally collapsing under the unyielding onslaught.

Slipping through one of a dozen passageways he descends into the labyrinth beneath his home. Feeling the gearing up of the great array at it's center he moves faster and faster still. Above his head he feels the wards weakening as the Dark forces attack in droves. Severus is waiting ahead of him dark eyes alight with concern and - and sympathy. He holds the locket in his hand.

Panting as the child stirs with a mew. Hermione's voice raised high and beneath it Ron's bass entreating the powers-that-be intercede on their behalf. Albus's power is a great platinum whirlwind interlaced with ultramarine that floods the array in a steady circuit. Kingsley and Bill chant over Nathan as he stands in the corner looking so much like Harry it hurts. Only twenty-two and possibly facing his death today - twice over. The baby begins to wail in his father's arms causing Nathan to open his eyes.

The house has been breached and even now it is probably being swarmed by misguided children and the remnants of the old Deatheaters. Nathan is wailing pitifully as he is draped in the new, utterly familiar pink blanket the locket and letter tucked in beside him. Severus strokes a finger down the baby's cheek. "I'll see you soon enough little boy." And he will though little Nathan will never know it. The array is blinding, the space around it devoid of air and crushing in pressure.

"I love you Nathan." Harry steps forward holding the child before him like an offering. There are screams from overhead as the defenses and curses woven into the structure repel the fools that desecrate it. There is a great groan as though the house it's self moans in pain. The light reaches out for the terrified child. Chanting the final incantation Harry watches as he loses his infant son. From behind him he hears Nathan reassuring his godfather Draco that he'll be fine. Beside him the simulacrum takes a deep breath before jumping into the fading light. "Oh, Nathan I love you."

There is a silence and then the Labyrinth is breached by the Darkness.


	2. Chapter one: Something isn't right

From his seat at the Gryffindor table Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is trying not to sweat. It's a bit difficult with everyone and their brother staring at him like he's some kind of special attraction. Not to mention the skin searing glare Snape id directing at the side of his head. Snape, Snape, Snape who he feel drawn to even though he's the greasy git in charge of the Evil Slytherin house. Dark wizards all if Ron's word is anything to go by. And if Malfoy is any indication Ron's word is the Gospel. 'But you could have been Slytherin' says the oh, so fair voice inside his head.

'You could be Great' is what the old tattered hat aid, but he doesn't want to be great just Harry. And besides he is far more concerned with wanting to stare back at the odd man at the Head Table. Well him and his bright gold aura. At least that seems like the term for it. Mist-like and gorgeous and so familiar in it's way. However, Ron would think him mental if he got into a staring contest with the chi - man! Why'd he almost call him a child? Anyway Ron would think him mental, much less anyone else.

And then the man, Snape, wouldn't look at him to save his life. He avoided him refusing to stay anywhere they might make contact. Strangely it seems only Harry and the Headmaster appear to notice. Ron remains preoccupied with that ginger-haired girl and everyone else just takes it in stride as per usual. Several days of avoidance until Double-Potions finally arrives. Malfoy and his house on one side mocking the Gryffindors, while said sit on the other side giving back the same. Tension thicken between the two factions until it sits as leaden as aunt Petunia's potato chowder.

Wands have just come out when the door bangs open and Professor Snape cuts down the dividing aisle like a obsidian blade. Reaching his desk he turns sharply dark eyes scanning the suitably subdued children. "I am your Professor Severus Snape the potion master of Hogwarts. If you have the sense, the talent, and mayhap the gumption - I can teach you how to defy age, to tame fortune, even to stopper death." In a different world that rather dramatic couplet would have concluded with one Severus Snape crushing the potion ambitions of one little boy named Potter.

Instead one Severus Snape scans the gaping faces of a group of stunned first-years stopping at one in particular. 'Potter.' The boy looks bemused, brow slightly furled as he studies the man before him. 'A glow.' He sees a glow golden, 'like his mother', and a name "Nathan". For a moment there is a terrible pressure in the room and then everyone but Severus and Harry sleeps. The others might as well have died for all either cares. "What did you call me Potter?" There is a pause and then the boy speaks a word that sounds like a crystal breaking, and Snape passes out.

'Oh god I've killed him' is the first thought the green-eyed brunette has as he creeps forward toward the unconscious mound on the floor. 'Oh god he's beautiful' is the next. Not surprising when the person in question is a slender, rather effeminate looking boy, well young man who rather resembles himself. "What color are your eyes?" But he already knows somehow they're a kind of aquamarine only more silvery like 'her's'. And then the bo - man moves as he wakes up and his eyes are as slanted as Harry's and just the exact color he'd imagines.

"Damn you Potter! What have you done?!" Comically the eyes widen, shocked perhaps at the higher, clarion-pitch where he expected a silky bass. The hands remain the same - long, pale and greatly scarred as they clutch the long, slender neck. "What the utter hell?!" Suddenly those unbelievable eyes are squared on Harry who has stepped forward. "Nathan be calm." Slowly he reaches out to briefly touch hair as thick and dark as his though straighter then he's ever hoped for.

'Soft.' And then the bo- man, the older man is bolting out the door and down the hallway only slightly slowed by the now ill-fitting clothes. Giving chase, "No Nathan! Wait! Please!" Harry can see there has been a lost of height and perhaps a smoothing out. The sense of strength has yielded to a sense of speed and agility. 'Just like me.' But there isn't time to ponder that odd idea as he must push himself to keep up with the black swathed blur ahead of him dodging students and faculty alike with uncanny grace. "Mr. Potter! You and your friend cease your antics this instant!"

Finally the figure, Nathan, pauses before some sort of horrid statue. "Double-Bubble Bubble Gum", he shouts for no discernible reason. The thing jumps aside and Nathan takes off again. Putting on a bit of extra speed the Boy-Who-Lived shouts a power-backed "Move!" and enters what appears to be some sort of escalator. Nearly plowing into a door at the finish he pauses to catch his breath.

"Damn thing better not be locked is all I've got to say." Taking a deep breath and stretching he smooths down his clothes and ruffles up his hair. 'Alright.' Grasping the innocent seeming doorknob he's rather shocked to see it turn so easily. He's rather more shocked to see _his_ son curled up in the Headmaster's lap… 'Wait - _my_ son?' Before the poor eleven-year-old can descend into a catatonic state of denial the Headmaster decides to speak. "Ah, Mr. Potter I was expecting you though I admit not this soon."


	3. Chapter Two - Perchance to stumble by...

"What do you mean 'expecting me'?" As an opening line it misses the mark. A fact duly noted by one deeply confused Snape if his snort is anything to go by. Olive grey eyes peek out at the focus of his confusion from behind a curtain of black set in an elfin version of the face they study. Harry is utterly fascinated, 'My facial structure set to Snape's proportions and coloring.' Having only realized he's spoken aloud when Dumbledore laughingly agrees Harry can feel his cheeks flushing. "Yes my boy and that is as it should be. After all, he is your son." And that's when poor Severus Sonorous Snape also called Nathan decides to clock out.

For a moment both dark-haired boy and white-haired man stare at the comatose third before Headmaster Dumbledore clears his thought and mutters something. Instantly the body in his arms levitates its self toward and through a discreetly situated door to be tucked into an unseen bed. "Now then", the elder declares with a clap of gnarled hands, "you've obviously got a number of questions, yes?" Indeed he does, profound questions like 'What the fuck' and 'How' and 'Why me'? Questions he could have happily presented but for a certain gleam some might call a twinkle in the old gent's eye. "First things first let's have a bit of tea. It'll give Severus time to come around and mayhap join us."

Twenty minutes later see a twitching Gryffindor eyes his fork in a way that faintly disturbs the portraits on the wall. Being a wiser man then he seems Dumbledore takes the rather obvious hints they are giving him and gives up on Severus. "Right. So… I don't suppose you know what a pensieve is do you Harry?" Deciding that even if it wasn't rhetorical he'd treat it as such Potter stares. Blinking Albus can feel his expression straining to remain cheerful, "Right then. A pensieve is a memory holding system. It is an invaluable tool for reflection and healing. It will also make this explanation simpler I believe."

Standing the centurium moves to open a rather tired looking cabinet inside of which sits an insubstantial looking bowl of stonework. The runes carved so heavily into it gleams as the silvery liquid within it shivers and sloshes about it's confines. 'Uncle Vern would freak… Just like I'm about to.' 'Come here Harry. It shan't harm you. They are only my own tattered thoughts and reminisces." The hand being held out to him trembles slightly belying the words spoken. Maybe it's that twitching hand, maybe it's what Twalany would call his intuition, either way he walks over to stand beside the old man. "Take a deep breath child."

**October 19, 1964 12:38 a.m.**

**Hogwarts - Forbidden Forest (Interior)**

Suddenly Harry finds himself sprawled upon a cold, damp, utterly filthy surface. Moldering leaves are crushed in his hands as he gets to his knees. Dark, the moon a dim point barely noticed much less seen. Behind him Dumbledore manages a much more graceful landing - hell on his knees but better then his ass. "Where are we, huh?" The temptation to be supremely sarcastic is masterfully suppressed, thank god for practice. 'Severus, Severus you've made of me a worse and better man.' Speaking of which, "Quiet now child. Here I am now." The Headmaster looks bemused brow wrinkled as he moves fast enough to create his own breeze in which his still ginger hair floats. Seeing himself Albus remembers the time. Tom had just begun to act an ass, Fudge was moving at full -steam toward the ministry office, and Dippet had just named him official heir to his position. A lot to have on one man's plate and so a sudden flare of enormous magical force wasn't something he welcomed. Oh, hell no! Yet it seemed he was the only one to notice or care, it seemed at times like he was the only one to ever notice or care. The only one.

Strangely pensive he eyes the boy beside him from the corner of his eye. Not willing to admit such thought just yet he turns back to the present moment. He'd been surprised to see the glass-like blast zone where recently the forest encroached. Even as he arrived eyes widening by the second he'd already been beaten by a few of the centaurs and a herd of therstals. A unicorn stands in the still smoking center beside something that feebly moves. It's an eerie sight such strange creatures in a near pitch-black area denude of all things, it's onyx-like surface glimmering like dark water.

"Dumbledore? Can you see the ripples this one child makes? Can you see the way he makes the stars shiver? Thrice-present, Thrice-born, Trice-lived son of a seventh son's son." Firenze quiets as his companions shift uncertainly; it may go very hard later this night for the sympathetic centaur. A thin wail sound from the smooth depression, the wail so forlorn and minuscule it's hair-raising. For a moment he could simply leave could calmly walk away leaving this child to the night and whatever mercy it might yield. And then one of the centaur's hooves dislodges a scatter of stones causing the unicorn to blaze with protective rage.

With the sudden vision of that light his cowardice breaks and he steps forward. That is something he hopes Harry is too young to understand - how easily his would-be mentor could leave a helpless child to it's own devices. Judging by the minute tightening of the boy's jaw he recognizes something he doesn't appreciate in this scene. The sound of a careful though awkward descent draws the nervous elder's attention. Arms out stretch the tall figure appears to be doing his best attempt at sobriety for a really patient cop.

Making it with a bit of slip out at the end the wizard is at a bit of an impasse. The pretty unicorn is staring at him rather … beadily. It glows menacingly as he tries to step forward. "That'll do girl. Let the professor get da child." Harry snickers as the Dumbledore of the past gets a Kodak perfect look of "oh shit" on his face. "Shush I wasn't expecting Hagrid of all people, especially not with my familiar on his shoulder." It's true the brilliant plumage of some spectacular bird can be seen on a rather clean-shorn gamekeeper's face. "Professor you might wanna go ahead and get the baby 'fore the unicorn changes its mind." Cautiously the slender man reaches out and grasps the edge of an incongruously pink blanket pulling it to himself.

Gripping the wiggling bundle in an admittedly inexperienced hold the descendant of Merlin decides it better to levitate himself out of the depression when massive hands grasp his waist and lift. Nodding firmly toward the assembled the half-breed begins a measured march back toward Hogwarts - still holding a bemused Albus like a naughty toddler. Finally he sets the man down to finish the trek out.

Stepping clear of the woods the two continue on to Hagrid's humble, but cheery hamlet. They are quiet until the elder of the two has set a number of wards. "Hagrid you cannot say a word of this anyone." As a preamble it's a bit blunt, but the large man doesn't take offense rather - "I know. I met one of the centaurs as I was coming up and he about said the same. Besides anything that has Argog sending out his kin to me is too serious to play around with."

There is a moment of quiet while the immense man putters about making tea and his guest communes with his familiar. Harry frowns; there is something strange about this younger Hagrid. More serious, more composed - smarter? No, he's more an adult, self-sufficient and totally present. The need to ask what happen is almost a real burning sensation of the lips for the preteen. And then, "Hagrid - what were you told?" The younger man sets the table for tea face uncommonly set.

"I can't say." The voice is quiet and sad and utterly resigned. Then they world is a blur as the scene moves elsewhere. The infant coos eyes open and an amazing blue. They seem aware following the large knuckled finger back and forth. "Child what will I do with you?" The fire crackles merrily as the clock strikes three am. Another blur and the child sleeps, a pale fae-like creature curled upon itself in the middle of a vast blue. At a desk across form the bed a quill scratches furiously as an anxious Albus rocks in his seat while dictating.

The woman is the typecast of Severus Snape he's briefly known. However, the light within her gives her a complicated beauty. She holds the sleeping babe with an effortless efficiency. "What is his name?" Albus, tired and worn-looking, shakes his head. "That's for you to decide if you take him in." Calmly she traces the line of the child's face, "He looks nothing like me much less Tobias." It's a moot point they both know, but Dumbledore takes it - "The child id wrapped 'round with a great blanket of spells and charms. One of the few I've identified deals with a powerful glamour. The moment you adopt him he'll adopt your features."

Harry disgruntled speaks, "Isn't she young to be giving the responsibility of a baby?" She truthfully doesn't look more then fifteen, but you're of age at seventeen, yeah? "Young though she looks, she's already twenty-three." 'Her eyes are even older', Harry thinks as she nuzzles the child. "Severus. His name is Severus Sonorous Snape. My family has always loved alliteration." Considering he's getting what he wants the Professor of the past doesn't seem very happy. "Tobias won't like this will he? And I won't be able to help you with him… I can find someone else, maybe the Potters - or the Longbottoms?"

'Her laugh is pretty.' Calmly she states her intention of adoption watching in delight as the child's features mimic her own. There is paperwork and fevered instructions. As the preparations are dealt with one by one the aged wizard seems to grow yet more nervous. For a moment it looks as though he would snatch the infant from the loving, possessive arms of his former student. And then she is leaving never knowing how bitterly her favorite teacher regrets using her like this.

Suddenly the Boy-Who-Lived (In-A-Cupboard) lies on the floor panting. "Where is the bloody letter?" And the locket he adds as an afterthought. Even as he's calming down the two things along with the … _pink_ blanket are dangling in his face. He can already recognize his handwriting on the parchment, can already feel the familiar energy of the locket, knows the scent of the oddly pink blanket. Pink. "Headmaster, is my baby really a boy? 'Cause his blanket is _pink_. You know _pink_!" As the old man laughs, starvation-lean fingers tremble as they unfurl the missive. _If you are reading this all my fears have come to fruitage as well as they might have._

Waking up next to his temporally estranged son he can only sigh. It's all happening so fast and all so strange. It's nowhere near as hard to sympathize with the Dursley's hatred of magic and the paranormal as right now. 'Still', his hand carefully carding through the thick, black hair, as he runs a light finger over the delicate features. Features that are either utterly absorbing or utterly repellent. All angles and paradoxical planes clothed in shades of black and white. _If you are reading this then all my fears have come to fruitage as well they might._ He doesn't sleep again for a long while.

Awakening alone in Dumbledore's over-sized spare bed he has a plan. It's stupid and selfish and rather far-fetched as far as he knows. Still if the puffy feeling of his eyes and the wetness on his cheeks is any indication then there's nothing much else he can do. Really how can he be expected to be still as he watches his son, a full-grown man, go on with a life he's had no part in? A life where he's missed all the firsts: first step, first laugh, first tooth, and bike, and day of school. All the stupid, corny moments he's gleaned from stolen moments of TV. The cavity-inducing moments he wanted to have with his own family. The ones he's going to have once he figures it all out.


End file.
